Just Jesse
by Summers-Wind
Summary: Jesse St. James would have informed his mother and not asked, but here Jesse was, just Jesse. And music was like oxygen, like Superman and Kryptonite all rolled into one. One- shot.


**A/N: So I've been meaning to write a GLEE fan fiction for a while. When Jesse introduced himself to Rachel as "Jesse", not "Jesse St. James", I couldn't get it out of my head. My friends are not huge Jesse St. James fans, so this is sort of my reasoning with them; Yes, Jesse can be a jerk, but he's not completely heartless, either. This is what became of that debate (kind of conversation). This isn't really a romance fic, and you'll only find a tiny hint at Jesse/ Rachel shipping, and it's not particularly relevant to the main plot . I've put a lot of time into this, so I hope you like it. :]**

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything!_

Just Jesse

Jesse St. James walked through the doors of a nondescript house in the middle of a nondescript Ohioan neighborhood, guitar hanging from his shoulders like a backpack. He opened the door and walked in- not like the house was his own- but like he had been there many times before. Looking up, there was a small entranceway with the usual coat rack and places for muddy snow boots in the winter. Ahead of him, there was a hallway with doors leading to various rooms. Beyond the hallway, was a staircase that lead to the upstairs of the house, where the bedrooms were. Walking one step past the entranceway, there was a door on either side of him. To his left, there was a kitchen with two woman cooking in it. One woman was slender and with graying hair and one was slightly heavier than average and not much older than him. The years had not been kind to either of them, and had Jesse not known their actual ages, he would have seen them as much older people. They were older people, he supposed though, as they had been through so much.

To his right, there was a doorframe that lead to a parlor. Sticking his head in to the parlor, he called to a tall, yet slightly hunched man of about sixty, who was reading a newspaper on a large, comfortable chair, which he sat in like it was his own. "Hi Carl."

The man looked up from his newspaper, his gentle chestnut ones meeting Jesse's all- telling aqua ones. "Jesse! You here to visit your ma?"

"Yes." Jesse nodded, finding a response to a conversation he didn't start, slightly awkward.

"How's that Glee club of yours going?" Carl asked, setting his newspaper down on his lap and setting his hands down on it, so it didn't slide off.

"Great." Jesse replied. He didn't want to mention anything about New Directions or New Directions actually having a competition they would actually have to work hard to win, and not just perform a mediocre show. Any comment Jesse St. James might have had his place, and Jesse knew that this wasn't it.

"You gonna play us somethin' soon?" the older man in his hope- filled voice roughened from years of smoking and signaling to the guitar case that hung on Jesse's shoulders.

"Yes, I am." Jesse replied, adding a nod, as he wondered if his voice was too stoic. He was total conscious of his body's gestures- years of acting lessons and acting had done that to him.

He knew that Carl had been worn from years of a life full of mistakes. Carl was a father, but he was not allowed to see his ex- wife or his daughter. Those details were important, but somehow always took the background to another fact: Carl played guitar. And he liked to play in the background of others.

"See you in ten minutes, then." Carl said. When Carl said ten, he always meant closer to twenty, which had annoyed Jesse the first several times he had come and played and impromptu sing- along show with the people at the house.

"Twenty minutes," Jesse told Carl, a slight edge in his voice. Carl's inability to be prompt, or anyone's inability to be prompt annoyed him. He didn't have enough hours in his days and everyone couldn't expect him to be flexible because they didn't know how to be prompt and he did.

Setting his guitar down and leaning it against the wall, Jesse left the parlor and in to the kitchen, from which, a pungent aroma of garlic and tomatoes filled the air.

"Hello, ladies." Jesse flashed the older and the younger woman both modest grins.

"Jesse! It's good to see you!" The older woman put down the spoon she was stirring with on saucer and wiped her hands down on her apron, before kissing Jesse on the cheek.

"Hi, Martha." He replied, kissing the older woman back on the cheek, and then looked over Martha's shoulder at the younger girl fumbling to turn off a stove burner flame.

"Hi, Krissa." Jesse flashed the nervous girl a smile. He knew that Kriss was only a year or two older than him, but he also knew that she had seen almost as much as any of the older people in the house had seen.

"Hi, Jesse." Krissa looked up and smiled nervously back at him.

"How is Lulu?" Jesse asked, referring to Krissa's young daughter, who lived with some random member of Krissa's family.

"Good, thanks." Krissa answered. Jesse was positive that he had never heard a negative sounding answer come from Krissa's mouth. "How about you?"

"Good." Jesse's answer was followed by a beat of silence, which he took to say his intended place of destination. "I'll be back downstairs in ten minutes. Carl and I are going to play." he informed the ladies.

An enormously giddy smile spread on to Martha's face, as her eyes lit up. "I love your an Carl's sing- a- longs!" she exclaimed.

"I know." Jesse replied, finding it hard not to smile back. "I'll be down in fifteen minutes." Jesse informed the two ladies, before exiting the kitchen, walking down the hall, up the staircase, making a left, and stopping at the third and last door on his right.

He took in his surroundings, which had become familiar, with a stride, but not without years of practice. The house was nothing spectacular and it didn't have any glamour to it. Though it's blandness, someone had obviously tried to brighten it up with some framed pictures and a couple posters of some famous artist's paintings on the walls.

Knocking firmly on the door in front of him three times, Jesse called, "You decent?" And waited for a response.

"Yeah, Jess!" a smooth voice that sounded tired and exhausted called, though it sounded clear from years of practice. The lethargic tone sounded familiar to Jesse- he had been hearing it for years. It wasn't the lethargic tone or the loud voice used to cover up the tone which the woman spoke with that scared Jesse, it was that the woman replied with a, "yeah." She has spent years trying to break Jesse of the "yeah" and tried to get him to say, "yes"- anything less would have been considered improper in front of his father's constituents.

Entering the room, Jesse took in the surrounds, which had also become familiar. There were two beds. There was one on the right that was unmade with clothes and various items thrown on it, and there was one on the left was perfectly made, with a woman of skin and bones and leathered skin sitting cross- legged on the bed. Jesse had slowly grown used to the version of this version of the woman- and that scared him, as well.

"Hi, Mom." He offered the woman a medium- sized, closed- lipped smile.

"What, no grin?!" His mother demanded. Now that there was no door or telephone static between them, Jesse could hear the faint tint of a Southern accent that had never quite left in her voice.

Laughing harder than was necessary, as it was partially forced, Jesse put on a grin. "Sorry, Mom."

"You better be." Jesse's mom replied in a dry, but humored voice. "Help me with these." His mom patted the bed beside her and signaled to the hamper full of clean laundry in front of her.

Jesse abided, walking over to the bed, thinking of a time when he, his mom, and his dad all lived in the mansion together and the maid did everything. The maid still did everything at his father's, but now he knew more.

Jesse sat on the bed next to his mother and grabbed a shirt and began to fold it.

His mom reached her hand over to the shirt causing Jesse to drop and the shirt onto his lap. "Not like that!" she scolded. Jesse remembered a time when she didn't even know how to fold a shirt properly, nor did she care how to.

"Can Carl and I play today?" Jesse asked his mother. Jesse St. James would have informed his mother and not asked, but here, Jesse was just Jesse. And music was like oxygen, like Superman and Kryptonite all rolled into one.

"Of course. How are your lessons going?"

"Excellent." Jesse explained, trying to not sound like he was talking to one of his father's constituents. He didn't have to try very hard when talking to his mother. "Show Dance is an hour on Mondays, Wednesdays, and two hours on Saturdays. Jazz is an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Vocal lessons are an hour Monday through Thursday and on Saturdays. Piano is two hours on Sunday. Glee is two hours after school Monday through Friday and two hours on Saturdays."

His mother knew the information, but Jesse repeated it anyway, though he didn't know why. If Jesse's mom was the way she was before things went bad, then she would have snuffed her nose in the air and bragged about her son's accomplishments like all of the other trophy wives, but she wasn't.

"How are your studies?"

"Excellent." Jesse grinned, truly excited. His father could buy a lot of things- auditoriums, glee club costumes for the entire club, practice rooms, coaches, tutors, even tip some people into accepting him into Ivy Leagues, but he couldn't buy good grades on tests. Jesse would show off his grades, boast about them being the best, him being the saledictorian, about A's being easy to get (which they were). But he meant every word of it and he earned his grades fairly.

"I saw your UCLA acceptance letter, congratulations." His mother praised him. Though her words were simple and were worth much less than the car that his father had bought them for acceptance, they might have meant more because his mother said them. He didn't know why and he would never tell anyone that they affected him like they did.

"Uh... thanks." God forbid, Jesse St. James would say "thank you", and mean it. But it wasn't Jesse St. James saying it, it was Jesse who said it, and that made all the difference.

He meant it when he said it, too. Maybe it was because to his mother, Jesse St. James, was just Jesse. Not the star of Vocal Adrenaline, not New Direction's competition, just Jesse.

There was a moment of silence, which had been more than enough for Jesse or his mother. They had never really been the sentimental types.

Into that silence, Jesse's mother spoke. "Are you ready to go downstairs?" she asked, pulling herself off the bed, and stood on the ground. After his mother slipped on her shoes, Jesse followed her out of the room and towards the parlor.

Nearing the parlor and the kitchen doors, Jesse could hear an intense, mellow, blues riff being played on an electric guitar. Jesse instantly recognized as B.B. King's _Gambler's Blues_, and applauded himself like he always did when he recognized a song based off only a few notes.

Walking in, Jesse saw the usual group of the house folk gathered in the room.

Carl sat on an ugly footrest, his old, red Les Paul guitar resting on his thigh and a cord hanging down onto the small amp at his feet. Another man, Ben, sat on the couch, a large bongo drum between his legs. Martha sat next to him, maracas in hand. Krissa sat next to Martha, awkwardly. Two other ladies sat against the wall in the corner, songbooks in hand. Jesse was pretty sure that their names were Liza and Maria, but he didn't ask, and he didn't feel the need to.

Picking up his guitar case, Jesse headed towards the empty chair, to the right of Carl. Sitting down and pulling his guitar out of it's case and looked at it. It was a well used Stratocaster, but unlike Carl's, it wasn't covered in scratches.

"Oooh!" Martha exclaimed into the quiet chatter that filled the room. "Can we sing _Hotel California_?!"

Jesse looked over at Carl for an acknowledgment, but Carl just shrugged back. It was always ultimately up to Jesse, and both knew it.

"You got it." Jesse flashed Martha his signature grin.

Martha laughed, as the two women flipped through the songbooks and handed out copies of _Hotel California's_ lyrics.

Jesse knew how to play the song on guitar. He wasn't perfect. Not like he was at singing, not like he was on piano, not like he was at dance, but he was adequate. And not all songs were destined to be piano ballads. Not the kind of songs they sung there.

Jesse looked at Carl and nodded. Carl began the opening riff, and Jesse joined in, as every but Carl prepared to sing the opening lines.

"_On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair,_

_Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air._"

Martha's voice was the strongest and most noticeable. She was taking breaths in all the wrong places and was a tad screechy, but her voice wasn't terrible. She would have made a fine member of a church choir and would have taken well to formal training

Jesse would have said, "What a pity" about something that would probably never happen, but he knew that Martha did not pity herself. She was responsible for a lot of things that had gone wrong in her life, but she did not deserve the many tragedies that had happened in her life.

"_Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light_

_My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim_

_I had to stop for the night_

_There she stood in the doorway;_

_I heard the mission bell."_

One of the ladies on the floor who Jesse couldn't remember the name of rang a small bell and Martha laughed.

"_And I was thinking to myself,_

"_This could be heaven or this could be hell"_

_Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way._"

Ben hit the drums with power and precision, giving it one final firm palm slap, before he paused..

"_There were voices down the corridor,_

_I thought I heard them say..._"

Ben began to beat his drum again and the entire group braced for the chorus of the song, all singing louder than they had before.

"_Welcome to the Hotel California_

_Such a lovely place."_

Martha sung "_place_" instead of "_face_", mixing it up with the following line. Her lack of lyric memorization slightly annoyed Jesse, because people like Lola, the lead female in Vocal Adrenaline, or Coach would have his head if he screwed up the lyrics. Coach always got the freshman forgotten or wrong lyrics, especially when they mixed Glee Club mash- up versions with the original versions. Jesse didn't say anything, though, and he kept on playing.

"_Such a lovely face."_

The rest of the group sang, while Martha sang the previous line.

_Plenty of room at the Hotel California_

_Any time of year, you can find it here_

_Her mind is tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes Bends."_

The ladies stuck their hands out and pretended to show off imaginary rings. His mom even got into that action. He smiled seeing his mom smile. He remembered a time when his mom did not smile. She never did when she and his dad were married, she never did when she went to rehab, she never did at his performances. It was on now, and at this place, had she begun to.

"_She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends_

_How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat._

_Some dance to remember, some dance to forget_."

The woman pretended to twist, as Martha stood up and went to the doorway, grabbing the hands of Jo, a forty- something man, who had just walked in the room.

"_So I called up the captain,_

"_Please bring me my wine"_

_He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine"_

_And still those voices are calling from far away,_

_Wake you up in the middle of the night_

_Just to hear them say..."_

The song continued and people continued to make up silly dance moves to the song.

Finally, the final refrain came.

"_Welcome to the hotel California_

_Such a lovely place_

_Such a lovely face_

_They livin' it up at the hotel california_

_What a nice surprise, bring your alibis."_

The group faded out on "alibis"

The woman and Jo clapped. Jo got into things. He was just like that.

"Hey! Jesse!" Jo called. Jesse found himself feeling slightly awkward again. It made him slightly nervous not to have control of a situation, and in this particular situation, a conversation. "How 'bout _Leavin' On A Jet Plane_?!"

"Let's do it." Jesse nodded, breathing a discreet sigh of relied, then began to play.

"_All my bags are packed_"

Jesse began singing, as everyone else caught on.

"_And I'm ready to go_

_I'm standing here_

_Outside your door…"_

Five songs later, the group, if you could call them that, had finished singing _Homeward Bound_, and Jesse was getting a little bit board.

"We're almost finished." Jesse said across the room to his mother. It wasn't a question, and almost as soon as he said it, he regretted it.

He shot his mother a look across the room to prove his point.

"You can deal with your father's parties, you can deal with this." Jesse's mother called across the room, which was filled with several different voices talking, so most likely only one or two people heard.

One of those people was Carl.

"You don't have to stay." A quiet and deep, but intentional and clear voice said, taking control of the conversation. Carl reminded Jesse of coach in some ways; when he talked, you listened, or otherwise one might miss something important

"I know." Was Jesse's response. Of course Jesse knew. And even if he didn't, he would never admit it.

"Even I wouldn't want to visit here, kid. Nothing but your Ma is keepin' you here, anyway. And you've visited with her."

"I know." Jesse said firmly, but with measurable amount of annoyance or arrogance in his voice. Jesse made sure that Carl and his mother would pick up on that. It was something he learned how to do in acting lessons, but his mother knew him better than that and Carl knew people.

"Then why are ya still here?" Carl asked.

For once in Jesse's eighteen year life, he did not have an answer. He was going to say something smart, witty, and with the perfect amount of bite back. Honestly he was, but his Blackberry interrupted the entire thought train, as _Highway To Hell _began to blast from his pocket.

Pulling it out and glancing at the Caller ID, Jesse saw that Lola, his female counterpart in Vocal Adrenaline was calling.

He was surprised to see that Lola was calling him on a Saturday after rehearsals were over. Lola never called him until Sunday after 12 to discuss whose house they would be studying for their AP exams at.

"Jesse St. James." Jesse answered his Blackberry, his greeting perfectly practiced and with the perfect amount of charm in his voice.

Across the room, he could see his mother roll her eyes at the tone of his voice.

She had once been like Jesse.

Before his father beat up his mother and she went in to rehab, Jesse had never seen an emotion he could read on his mother's face. Once he had seen his mother in so much pain she could not hide it, he could find her making less intense versions of her pained face. Looking back, he could remember times he'd seen that face and recall events that made her make the face (Like the expression she had on when she said goodnight to Jesse after a lot of screaming between her and Jesse's father).

"JESSE ST. FUCKING JAMES." Jesse was instantly pulled out of his thoughts. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!" Jesse winced a little, but he covered it up well. He could never let Lola see, or hear, anything but his showface. Vocal emotion often showed in bodily language.

"The AP Gov test is in THREE weeks! The group planned an extra study session and you need to!" Lola demanded. Lola was like that. She wasn't afraid to call Jesse on a bad performance or give her a tip, and he wasn't afraid to do the same back. That was why they were the leads in Vocal Adrenaline and that was why they worked so well together.

"I said I was not going to make it." Jesse informed her.

"And when you say, "Not going to make it," you still show up, St. James. You showed up _Nationals_ with a_ hundred _and fucking_ two _fever." Lola reminded him.

Lola knew Jesse St. James well. She could sense when something was off, or different about him. She sensed that he honestly _liked_ that girl from New Directions. Lola probably sense that before Jesse did. But she didn't say anything. She knew that Coach allowed business to be mixed with please, just as long as the job got done.

"I'll be there." Jesse caressed Lola's burn. Because that how Jesse and Lola were.

"See you in twenty." Lola informed Jesse. "And drink a Red Bull" she added, a demanding tone in her voice. "You sound funny."

"See you in fifteen minutes, Lola." Jesse replied, challenging her request to show up in twenty minutes.

Lola and Jesse ended their call. As Jesse looked up, his mother gave him an expectant look.

"I have to go now," Jesse informed his mom, and he immediately regretted having to say those words, as soon as he saw the look of un-disguisable hurt on her face. He recognized that look. It was the same look she gave him after he announced he would be moving out of his uncle's house, and back into his father's. The look quickly left her face, though. None of her expressions stayed but a moment, and you had to know that they were there.

"I'll be back next Saturday. Maybe earlier next time. 2 PM?" It was not a question, though only his mother knew that. She knew him well.

"You better, man," Carl broke the tension, as Jesse flipped open the top of his guitar case and put his guitar back in. "I don't like to play with people more talented than me." He teased.

"I know." Jesse replied in an all- knowing voice, as he shut his guitar case and buckled it closed. He did know. He saw a lot of Carl in Rachel. Both had raw talent and it showed in their live, uncensored performances. Both didn't mind teasing him, both put up with his "miva" (male diva), and both knew Jesse.

Naturally, they had differences; Rachel was high strung, like him, while Carl was mellow. And he found Rachel sexy. Especially when she rambled. Oh, God, when she rambled…

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Jesse St. James picked up his case and walked to the doorway. He could see the eyes on him, and he didn't mind. Jesse St. James liked the attention.

Turning around, he faced the group. "By everyone." He grinned his infamous grin.

"Bye Jesse!" Martha called.

"Bye!" everyone else chorused at the exact same time.

"Come again soon, Jess." His mother stood up, walked over to him, and offered him a hug. He kissed her on the cheek.

"I will, Mom."

Jesse paused to think about the woman in his life. Jesse and Lola could mutually breath up and neither would have a broken heart. Jesse could break up with Rachel, and though he found her adorable, he was pretty sure that it wouldn't be the end of his world. But Jesse couldn't say anything harmful to his mother, as she was part of a place that knew soul and knew pain and brought him the emotional depth that Rachel lacked.

"If there's a girl, treat her well." Jesse's mother said, just as he was about to turn around.

"I will." He responded. Maybe because he couldn't say "no" to his mother, maybe because he actually wanted to be close to Rachel.

And with that, Jesse St. James turned around. The moment Lola called, the lines between Jesse and Jesse St. James were blurred beyond his comprehension, and Jesse couldn't deal with that.

Instead, he exited the room called to the group as he opened the front door, "See you later!" because it left Jesse St. James with the final words and gave Jesse the ability to give mother and her housemates some hope that he would come back soon.

Jesse pulled the other guitar strap around his other shoulder and exited the front door. Jesse St. James closed the front door and walked down the pathway to his motorcycle and hopped on.

Leaving Jesse at the door, Jesse St. James rode to Lola's.

**3:45 PM. April 30, 2010.**


End file.
